Damascus Countdown

by Joel C. Rosenberg

  “What kind of deal?” Murray asked.

  “Tom, he’s going to get full operational control of 170-plus nuclear missiles by midnight on Monday.”

  Murray said nothing for a moment. Then, “He’ll be unstoppable. Are you sure it’s all finalized?”

  “As you can see from the transcripts I sent you, everything’s done but the handshake,” Eva said. “It looks like the Iranian ambassador in Islamabad has been the middleman. He’s been doing most of the negotiating, and I’m guessing he’s been communicating with the Mahdi and with General Jazini mostly by secure e-mail. So the calls—at least the ones I’ve seen so far—don’t give chapter and verse. But one thing is clear: the Paks are going to publicly announce they are joining the Caliphate in the next twenty-four hours. The Mahdi and his team are trying to arrange a face-to-face meeting with Iskander Farooq. The logistics, as you can imagine, are challenging, to say the least. The Mahdi doesn’t have the time or interest to go to Islamabad, and he doesn’t have a lot of working airports left from which to depart, either. By the same token, it’s really not feasible for Farooq to get to Tehran. But Farooq won’t hand over the launch codes to the Pak nuclear missiles unless he gets an in-person meeting.”

  “So it’s not entirely a done deal,” Murray said.

  “Seems like a formality at this point. Farooq is a Sunni. He rules a predominantly Sunni country. Yet he’s about to give the Twelfth Imam the keys to the kingdom.”

  “But he hasn’t yet, right?” Murray pressed.

  “Not technically, but it’s just a matter of hours,” Eva said.

  “Don’t we have intel that the Mahdi was supposed to meet with Farooq in Dubai last Thursday?”

  “We did, and we know that the Mahdi even sent his aide . . .”

  “Javad Nouri?”

  “Right, right—Nouri—to Dubai for a quick trip to scout out a location.”

  “It was only a few hours, right?”

  “I think so, but then again, I’m just catching up on that by reading the intercepts,” Eva said. “You’ll recall I was locked up at the time.”

  “I know, and I’m sorry, but listen—my point is, the meeting between the Mahdi and Farooq was scrubbed, right?”

  “Yes. The war started Thursday, and everything changed,” Eva confirmed. “Why? What are you saying?”

  “I don’t know,” said Murray. “I’m just thinking.”

  “What are you going to do, suggest the president order U.S. special forces invade Pakistan and secure every missile?” Eva asked, incredulous. “For crying out loud, Tom, the man didn’t even want to hit Iran.”

  “Careful, Eva,” Murray cautioned. “That’s the president of the United States—your commander in chief—you’re talking about.”

  “I’m just saying that—”

  “I know what you’re saying,” Murray said, cutting her off. “And you might be right. But I’m saying this deal could have been done Thursday, and it wasn’t. So it’s not done until it’s done. But don’t you worry about that. You just keep translating. Let me worry about whether we can stop this or not. You’re doing good work, Eva. Thank you. Really. Thanks.”

  “Don’t thank me yet.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because there’s more.”

  TEHRAN, IRAN

  Nouri’s entire body stiffened involuntarily as if David had just nailed him with a high-voltage cattle prod. But Torres’s eyes widened as well. Even Fox turned his head away from the window as if to see what in the world David was doing.

  Admitting to being a spy for the CIA on enemy soil during a hot war in the enemy’s capital while interrogating a top advisor to the enemy himself was an unconventional strategy, to say the least. They certainly didn’t teach it in the Agency training program at the Farm, nor had David ever seen or heard of Murray or Zalinsky using it. If Eva were here, David knew she’d go ballistic. But this was the course he’d chosen, and he was determined to see it through.

  “That’s right, Javad. Every single phone I gave you, every single phone you gave the Mahdi and his army, each and every one of them was supplied by the American government, by the CIA and the NSA, and all of them are being carefully monitored.”

  David paused for a moment to let his words sink in and let Javad’s mind—foggy though it was—contemplate the full import of what he had just heard. He noticed Torres nervously tapping his fingers on his weapon and Fox forcing himself to look away and keep his eyes peeled out the window.

  “The CIA is listening to every phone conversation the Mahdi is having, Javad. We’re listening to every call the Ayatollah is having. We’re listening to every call President Darazi is having, and all the rest of them,” David continued. “But we also know there are things you’re saying to each other that you’re not saying on the phone. So here’s the deal. You’re going to talk to me. You’re going to answer my questions, and as a reward I’m not only going to let you live, I’m going to get you out of this country, get you to a safe place where the Mahdi can’t torture you once he learns that you work for me.”

  Nouri’s body language made it clear David had his full attention now.

  “It’s a simple proposition, Javad. Cooperate, and live. Don’t cooperate, and die. But let’s be clear: just between you and me, I’m not going to put a bullet through your temple. That would be the easy way out for you. If you don’t help me, I’m going to make certain the Mahdi kills you, but only after he makes you suffer in ways that are too terrible for me to even want to think about.”

  David pulled the Sig Sauer away from Nouri’s head and pressed it into the top of his knee.

  “But I’ll tell you one thing: if you don’t talk, I am going to blow your kneecap off. Now, I’ve never experienced that level of pain myself, but I’ve seen people go through it. You might be interested to know that I shot Tariq Khan in the knee just three days ago. He didn’t die, but he sure wanted to. The crazy thing is, Javad, the human body can actually endure an enormous amount of suffering. I’m not sure how. I’m not a doctor. I’m not a mullah. I’m not Allah. All I know is I’ve seen people suffer for days in wrenching, mind-blowing amounts of pain, begging for someone—anyone—to kill them once and for all and put them out of their misery. Khan did. But even blowing your kneecap off would actually be the least of your troubles. Because I’m going to make you the same deal I made Khan. He made the right choice—he talked. And you’d better do the same. Because if you don’t talk, after I shoot you, my team and I are going to leave you in this room for the Mahdi and his men to find you. They’ll find you right here in this CIA safe house. I know you can’t see it right now. But I’m assuming you can imagine how it looks. Computers and satellite phones and maps and the like. And on your laptop, which will be open when the secret police arrive, there are all kinds of interesting files. Transcripts of the Mahdi’s phone calls. Transcripts of Hosseni’s calls and Darazi’s. Files with code names for Najjar Malik and for Khan. Detailed plans to assassinate Dr. Saddaji in Hamadan. Lists of dead drops. Locations of other safe houses. Bank account numbers in Switzerland with millions of American dollars parked in your name. And the crazy thing is, it won’t be fake. It’s all real. Your fingerprints will be all over this operation. You know how angry the Mahdi is that this war isn’t going like he’d hoped, like he’d planned, like he’d predicted? Imagine how he’ll feel when he learns that you’ve been selling him out—his own personal Judas, betraying him with a kiss.”

  Nouri was perspiring profusely now, but David was not yet done.

  “But I suspect that won’t be the worst of it,” he continued. “My guess—and it’s just a hunch, I admit—is that what will really enrage the Mahdi is the pictures of you at the Buddha-Bar in Dubai.”

  Nouri’s knuckles went white as he gripped the arms of the chair.

  “You were being followed, Javad. We watched you arrive in Dubai last Wednesday. We know the Mahdi sent you to prep for the meeting with President Farooq. We have copies of all your rece
ipts. We have pictures of every place you went. We have pictures of every person you met with, including the—how shall I put it?—scantily clad women. We have pictures of you holding those Smirnoff and Absolut bottles and video of you pouring those young ladies drink after expensive drink. And it will all be here, on your hard drive. Then VEVAK will get a discreet call with an anonymous tip about your whereabouts, and thugs from the secret police will descend upon this place and report everything they find to Imam al-Mahdi. Oh, you’ll deny everything, of course. You’ll profess your loyalty to the Mahdi and to Allah. And all these files I’m talking about won’t be obvious at first. Asgari’s men will have to do some digging into your computer. But they’ll find it. I guarantee you they will find it all. And given all the evidence, do you really think they’re going to believe you? Especially when they find an e-mail from you to me, warning me that the Mahdi has two more nuclear warheads that he’s preparing to use?”

  At that, Nouri’s grip on the armrests actually began to loosen. The more David said, the more the life seemed to drain out of the young man.

  “Now, listen carefully,” said David, careful to stay behind and to the right of Nouri. “I’m going to take this gag off your mouth. You scream, you call for help, you make any sudden moves, and I blow your kneecap off. Got it?”

  Nouri took a deep breath, then exhaled and nodded.

  “And yes, the pistol is equipped with a silencer, just in case you were wondering.”

  LANGLEY, VIRGINIA

  “What else?” Murray asked Eva, not sure he really wanted to know but having no other choice.

  “A few more things,” she replied. “First, Mohsen Jazini is now the acting defense minister and commander in chief of all Caliphate armed forces.”

  “Says who?”

  “The Mahdi personally, in a phone call to Jazini,” Eva said. “I’m forwarding you the transcript.”

  “What about Faridzadeh?” Murray asked.

  “He’s out.”

  “Why?”

  “The Mahdi didn’t say. Just told Jazini he was, quote, ‘impressed by your memo and want you to start executing the first section immediately.’”

  “That’s odd.”

  “It is, but there’s more.”

  “What?”

  “Okay, second, I’ve got a strange set of intercepts here that I don’t quite know what to make of, but they’re . . . I don’t know exactly. They’re giving me the willies.”

  “What do they say?”

  “One is of the Twelfth Imam talking to President Mustafa in Syria,” Eva said. “He tells Mustafa to start killing all the Jews and Christians in the country.”

  “Why?” Murray asked. “The man has already slaughtered more than thirty-two thousand people over the past eighteen months.”

  “I know, but that’s what he said,” Eva replied. “And when Mustafa said Syria wanted to join the Caliphate, the Mahdi told him Syria could join the Islamic empire but couldn’t yet join the war against Israel.”

  “Why not?”

  “He didn’t say exactly, but he did say he was sending Mustafa some special guests and that they should be well cared for.”

  “Who?”

  “Again, he didn’t say. Not on that call. But there were several other calls that didn’t seem so important at first but might be. It seems the Mahdi is in touch—indirectly, mind you, but in touch nonetheless—with the IRGC hit team that took out President Ramzy in New York. He told Darazi to order the hit team to travel from Venezuela through Cyprus and Beirut to Damascus and await instructions there.”

  “You think the Mahdi is planning to assassinate Mustafa?” Murray asked.

  “No.”

  “But you think this hit team are the ones the Mahdi told Mustafa to prepare for?”

  “Mmm, no, I don’t think so,” Eva replied.

  “Then what?”

  “I don’t know,” Eva admitted. “I really don’t. The ‘special friends’ the Mahdi referred to seemed like people at a higher level, at least to me, but I can’t tell you why. It’s just . . . it was the adjective he used in Farsi for the word special. It means, you know, very special, like a VIP or a high-ranking official or someone very close to you, someone in the family. I’m not sure. I’m going on instinct here, Tom, but something’s going on in Syria. I wish I could tell you what, but I can’t. But I think we should start putting more attention on trying to figure it out.”

  Murray shook his head. “Look, Eva, we’ll do what we can, but we can only do so much at this point. Our top priority is finding those two warheads. Right now I’d say our second-highest priority is trying to thwart this deal between the Mahdi and the Pakistanis. I need to brief the director on that ASAP and make sure he briefs the president and the National Security Council. That could shift the entire balance of power in the next twenty-four hours. That’s an awful lot to do in a very short period of time. Don’t get distracted by Syria. They’re not in the war. The Mahdi told them not to get into the war. We need to keep our eye on the ball.”

  “But, Tom, what if—?”

  “No,” Murray said, cutting her off. “It’s a rabbit trail. We can’t afford any diversions right now. Please, Eva. I need you to stay focused. And I need you to rally the other translators and keep them focused as well. This thing’s coming to a head, and I’m counting on you.”

  TEHRAN, IRAN

  Torres and Fox readied their weapons as David began to remove the gag from Nouri’s mouth, leaving the blindfold on. Nouri made no sudden moves.

  “Would you like some water?” David asked his prisoner.

  “Yes, thank you,” Nouri replied.

  But David wasn’t ready to give Javad Nouri anything just yet. “How about you answer my questions first?” he said.

  “Please, Reza, I haven’t had anything to drink since the hospital,” Nouri replied.

  “No, I want you to talk first,” said David, taking a long drink of cold bottled water in front of Nouri and making sure the man could hear him enjoy every refreshing drop. “Where are the warheads?”

  “I thought you and your people were listening in on everything we’ve been saying,” Nouri said. “Why bother even asking me?”

  “Because we know the warheads exist. We know the Israeli attacks destroyed six of the warheads but somehow missed two. We know your boss is planning to use them. But we don’t know where they are currently.”

  “I don’t know either.”

  “You’re making a mistake, Javad.”

  “No, really, I don’t,” Nouri replied. “Why would they tell me?”

  “Because you are the Mahdi’s most trusted advisor.”

  “That’s the Ayatollah, not me.”

  “Hardly,” David said.

  “Well, believe what you like, but I don’t know where they are.”

  “Are they still in Iran?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Have they been moved out of the country?”

  “How many ways must I say it?” Nouri asked. “I . . . don’t . . . know.”

  “Then how are they going to be used?”

  “The Mahdi is going to fire them both at the Zionists.”

  “Both of them?”

  “Yes.”

  “At Israel.”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “Not at the United States?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because the Mahdi’s focus is on the Zionists.”

  “The Little Satan?”

  “If you say so,” Nouri said.

  “It’s not my line; it’s the Mahdi’s,” David said.

  Nouri remained silent.

  “So you’re going to fire both of these warheads at Israel.”

  “Yes.”

  “For what purpose?”

  “Why do you think? To wipe the Jews off the map.”

  “So Darazi was serious when he said that?” David asked.

  “Of course he was serious. Why would you thin
k otherwise?”

  “Because Darazi also said he was enriching uranium for peaceful purposes.”

  “He lied,” Nouri said matter-of-factly and without any hint of irony or guilt.

  “So you’re an admitted liar,” David said, taking the tone of a Manhattan prosecutor more than an interrogator.

  “Not me,” Nouri replied. “But Darazi, yes.”

  “And the Mahdi.”

  “Never.”

  “The Mahdi never lied?” David asked.

  “No, Imam al-Mahdi never lied,” Nouri said, indignant. “He came to establish the Caliphate. He came to establish peace in the Middle East and around the world. He warned everyone—he explicitly warned your president and the Zionists, for that matter—that if the Caliphate were attacked, this would trigger the War of Annihilation. But none of you would listen. We didn’t attack first in this war. The Zionists did.”

  “But you were about to launch a strike on the Israelis,” David argued.

  “Says who?” Nouri asked. “Your president asked for a meeting with the Mahdi to discuss peace terms. The Mahdi agreed. How is that preparing for a first strike?”

  “You’re actually going to sit here and deny that the Mahdi was preparing to launch a first strike against Israel?”

  “Yes.”

  “But you just admitted that Darazi was lying about the reason for enriching uranium,” David noted.

  “Yes.”

  “Well?”

  “Well, what?”

  “You just admitted that Iran was building nuclear weapons when Darazi said they weren’t, and the reason was to wipe Israel off the map.”

  “No,” said Nouri, “I said Iran built nuclear weapons. I didn’t say they were intended for offensive purposes.”

  “Of course you did.”

  “No, we built them for defensive purposes—just in case a scenario like this developed,” Nouri insisted. “If the Jews hadn’t attacked us, we would not have attacked the Jews. But now it is clear; the Zionists are the aggressors. And in attacking us, they have triggered a fully justified, fully legal jihad, and this was a very foolish mistake. For now we are waging a holy war with holy weapons, and that cancerous tumor known as Israel will be wiped off the map, just as our Iranian president prophesied it would be.”